


wake from your sleep again

by bigchickcannibalistic



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: D&D AU, F/F, like very loose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigchickcannibalistic/pseuds/bigchickcannibalistic
Summary: “Jughead, what the hell?” Veronica demands, slamming her fists against the table and rattling the figurines on the map.“It’s not my fault you rolled a natural 1 on the lock-picking check.”Or a snippet of a D&D AU bc what is sleep?





	wake from your sleep again

**Author's Note:**

> Literally couldn't sleep because my brain wouldn't leave this AU alone unless I wrote something.
> 
>  
> 
> Title from the song "Fires Fade" by Miracle of Sound

 

There’s something dripping onto her face, right above her right eye so it’s sliding over her eye. And whatever it is, it burns something nasty – oddly enough like the ale Mantle bought them at that shoddy tavern. Damned Kegs or something. Worst ale in her life, like how can people in this town drink that.

_“You’re just spoiled with your fancy elven wine and whatshit.” Mantle had defended, far too vigorously for a first time visit to the tavern._

“It’s not wine, you moron,” Veronica grumbles much like she did at the tavern, but the words feel heavy on her tongue, barely leave her mouth into the – is that dirt? Is she really lying in dirt? Wait she didn’t get drunk, did she? _Off that ale, nope._

Then how in the Seven Cycles –

“It’s oil, Miss Lodge.” Comes the low grumble that is so characteristically Smithers with its forced politeness and underhanded exasperation. She doesn’t remember taking Smithers to the tavern; quite the opposite actually, he was supposed to find lodgings with Betty.

_Wait did he say oil?_

_Lodge where the hell have you fallen asleep?_

Veronica cracks open an eye, just as another drip fell down. The curses she shouts are enough to make a cleric blush – yes, she’s talking from experience. She’s seen Betty blush enough times during combat whenever Veronica started cursing. And no it’s not because she’s painfully aware of where Betty is at every moment during combat, what are you talking about, the nerve –

“Smithers, what did I drink?” Veronica groans, swiping at her eyes. Or at least trying to. Her arms hurt, her fingers don’t seem to work properly of they work at all; all she’s feeling is a few twitches and that buzz you get when your fingers are between numb and not numb.

_Wow such eloquence, mom would be so proud._

“Just a wild cocktail of hexes.” Comes another familiar voice, like a sweet melody to Veronica’s foggy mind. A melody she wouldn’t mind listening to. All. Day – Hold on.

_Hexes?_

With a groan Veronica hauls herself upright and – whoa okay, her head’s starting to kill her and it’s oddly dark out on the streets. Like you’d think this little town would invest in lamps or something. No wonder they whine about high crime rates, this is practically Thief Heaven (if y’know there was something valuable to steal other than sheep and mirrors.)

“What hexes – urg,” Veronica spits out the oil that’s dripped down into her mouth. She tries to wipe it away but her fingers keep missing and hitting her nose or her eyes. When had she become so clumsy? She’ll steal your coin purse before you even realise it and now – now she can’t even wipe her face.

Like that in the Seven Cycles?

“Here, stay still.” Veronica hears before she sees Betty, half her face bathed in golden light like the saint that she is. Then she’s leaning in close and Veronica has half a mind to close the gap and – oh. She’s leaning in to wipe Veronica’s face, not to kiss her. Damn, what a let-down.

“I can do it,” Veronica argues (not petulantly. She’s a Lodge and Lodges don’t whine or pout or any of those childish things.)

“Don’t pout.”

“I’m not.”

“Veronica, please,” and Betty says it with such a weary voice, heavy and cracking at the end that has Veronica sobering up faster than a bucket of cold water. That’s when she notices them.

Scars, little ones scattered over Betty’s cheeks and a pretty nasty red one over her right eye. And her ponytail’s looking worse for wear, with hair sticking out of it at odd angles and some stuck to her neck, right above her armour. And her eyes are red and shinning with –

With tears.

Veronica can feel her heart break.

“Betty?” Veronica asks hesitantly – _since when do Lodges hesitate? –_ and of course now her hands are working (and oddly feel warmer.) But before she can touch Betty’s cheeks, the cleric backs away, with a barely audible sniffle. She’s shaking her head, to keep the tears from falling (a classic move Veronica’s mastered herself) and she refuses to meet Veronica’s eyes.

The way she’s wrapped her arms around herself, the way she’s biting her lip to stop the growing sniffles – she’s barely holding herself together.

Scratch that, _now_ Veronica’s heart is breaking.

“Betts, hey. Betty.” Veronica moves forward, hands restless, going from her arms to her shoulders only to stop at Betty’s cheeks. Wet cheeks. Shaking wet cheeks. She moves to pull Betty forward but the cleric shakes her head, moving back.

“No.” Betty says with a much firmer voice than Veronica expected. “No. Not here, not now – Smithers he –”

“I’m all right, Miss Cooper.” Smithers supplies, ever polite, but his voice is strained. Short like when he’s hurrying Veronica for a meeting or about to drag her out of something stupid (which doesn’t happen often. Honest.) “Although if you don’t mind making an exit soon, I’d be ever grateful.”

“Exit, what?”

And then she notices why it’s so dark. Smithers is holding either a wall of a piece of the ceiling or something over their heads, keeping it from crumbling and flattening them. He’s holding up what at first glance looks to be a lot and he’s not supposed to hold anything heavier than a carriage.

_The oil that was dripping –_

How long was she out?

Veronica looks around as Betty clambers to Smithers’ side, already mumbling a spell.

What the hell happened?

With a loud rumble and a flash of golden light, Betty makes a large enough whole for them to leave. Veronica tries to stand up but her knees give out at the last moment. Betty’s there, as if she teleported, hands around each arm and steadying Veronica. Then in a flourish she’s hoisting Veronica in her arms and they’re out into the open.

The open being a room that’s seen better days. Tapestries hang torn on the walls, paintings scattered and shredded and glass everywhere, and there’s moonlight shining through a gaping hole on the ceiling. The familiarity of it all, it pricks at the back of Veronica’s mind.

But she doesn’t get to ponder on it as Betty falters before falling to her knees in the middle of the room. Veronica’s fingers dig into the collar of Betty’s armour, eyes instinctively finding Betty’s and she doesn’t have to think. She’s never pulled Betty into her arms faster. (And she knows, keeps a loop of all the times she did.)

As soon as she feels Betty’s nose against her neck, she feels more than hears the sobs. In the distance Smithers clink-clanks as he moves sporadically.

“Hey, shhhh. It’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s over, okay?  It’s okay, we’re okay.” Veronica murmurs against Betty’s temple, fingers catching against Betty’s armour, feeling scratches that are old and new, dipping into dents that weren’t there before.

“You almost died, Ronnie,” Betty chokes out. The desperation, the fear lacing Betty’s words it stills Veronica’s hands, makes her numb all over again. Possibly makes her heart stop for a few beats because Betty’s pulling away and shaking her, fingers digging into her arms.

“I what?” Veronica all but whispers, blinking so much her eyes might hurt.

Betty of all things laughs (though it’s choked.) “You challenged another thief or something that you could unlock that chest faster than him.” Betty shakes her head, blinking to stop the tears. “Then you got hexed by the chest.”

It all comes crashing back to her in broken scenes. The group deciding to recon the manor before actually infiltrating to find the missing Halfling. Veronica seeing an opening and practically scaling the side of the manor to squeeze through an open ornate window. Nearly slamming into Smithers and Betty as they snuck in through the cellar. Entering this room and being instantly mesmerised by the chest hidden beneath a dinner table.

And Betty revealing the other thief with her magic, no illusions unfamiliar to a cleric of Sehanine (which is still funny because the patron of the elves chose a _human_ cleric of all things.) Veronica, foolishly, stubbornly, arrogantly challenging him to a lock-picking contest.

And the pain. The searing, scorching, numbing pain that hit Veronica in the chest, through her fingers, stealing her breath. (And the screams – a cacophony of hers and Betty’s and maybe even Smithers – mixing, mashing, overwhelming until her vision gave out and oblivion took her.)

She’s so stupid.

“I’m sorry.” Veronica says, moving her hands to cup Betty’s cheeks. Her thumbs wipe away newly shed tears, keeping Betty steady as she tries to calm herself. Veronica keeps her eyes on Betty’s, unwilling to look away, unwilling to let Betty hide herself again. She knows of the night where Betty tries to supress her crying, where she wanders into the forest or takes first watch just to the others wouldn’t notice.

But Veronica noticed – notices – and she’ll be thrice-damned if she lets this beautiful woman tear herself down and rebuild herself alone in silence. Especially if Veronica’s the cause.

“I’m sorry. But I’m okay. You brought me back, all right? You did it. It’s over, all right? I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” She takes one of Betty’s hands, makes a mental note of how it’s shaking, twitching much like after she overexerts herself with spellcasting; she slowly places the hand over her heart and breathes, as deep as she can.

She watches as Betty’s eyes stay on her hand, as if fascinated; watches as she begins to mimic Veronica’s movements until she’s calmed enough to stop sniffing with each inhale. Watches until Betty nods to herself – so lightly that were it not for Betty’s ponytail, Veronica’d miss it all together. She watches until Betty looks up, eyes steady and calm and clear.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Veronica says like a promise, a vow. (One she’ll make a thousand times if she has too.)

Before Betty can answer, something – or someone – crashes through a door. The following series of curses, in Draconian no less, make it easy to guess who crashed. Veronica breathes out, clicking her tongue afterward. _Always Mantle and his barge first, no questions asked motto._

“I told you to wait, Reggie!” Comes Archie’s voice, echoing from the hall.

“Seems the rest found us,” Smithers points out, his shadow suddenly stretching over both of the girls. “Do you require assistance getting up?”

“No. Thank you, Smithers.” Veronica leans her head back and gives him a small smile.

“As you like, Miss Lodge.” Smithers nods and moves over to where Reggie is trying to get his axe out of the door – or what’s left of the door anyway. And to think she was getting used to the quiet.

The light tapping she feels against her chest reminds her that she’s still got Betty’s hand pressed over her heart. She clears her throat, hoping that the room’s dark enough to hide her blush. When she looks over, Betty nods, her face redder but definitely not from crying.

And the smile she gives Veronica seems like a promise too.

\----

“Jughead, what the hell?” Veronica demands, slamming her fists against the table and rattling the figurines on the map.

“It’s not my fault you rolled a natural 1 on the lock-picking check.” Jughead shrugs in a dramatic manner, hands barely raised above the cardboard diving his part of the table from theirs.

“I thought that couldn’t mean _‘you died lol’_!”

“Well maybe next time you’ll think first before challenging to pick a hexed lock just to impress Betty.” He shoots back, righting his beanie to indicate that that’s the end of it.

“So not what happened.”

“So yes what happened.” Reggie adds with a wink. Veronica sends him a scathing glare, daring him to continue at his own risk. No one fails to notice how Archie’s slowly inching away from Reggie. He’s had enough figurines whacked at him thank you.

“Like you’re one to talk Mister Got-Intimidated-By-A-Painting,” Valerie adds with a smirk, forcing Reggie to drop his smile, and bringing out his habit of tapping his fingers against the map.

“It was a freaky painting, okay?”

“It literally had a group of mice at a dinner table. Cartoon mice.”

“Hey,” Betty whispers, ignoring the fight Valerie and Reggie are having across from them. Instead she’s focusing on Veronica, who had leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms so she could glare at her character sheet as if it’s to blame for her near death in game.

Betty traps Veronica’s foot between her own. It’s enough to snap her out of whatever gloomy plan she thought of for her poor character sheet.

“That was very elegant of you, despite the outcome,” Betty offers a smile and a wink to go with it. It never fails to bring out the goofy smile on Veronica’s face.

“Yeah, well the rampage you made to avenge me took the cake, Betts.” Veronica snatches one of Betty’s hands, and starts playing with her fingers. Every odd swipe against her palm feels like a part of a larger shape.

“I can’t let my girl go down without a fight, can I?”

“Your girl, huh?” Veronica raises her brows in mock surprise, leaning closer to Betty. Betty rolls her eyes good naturedly.

“As if you didn’t know how that will end.”

“Those are some massive spoilers, Cooper.”

“I do love to spoil you, Lodge.” Betty counters, knowing exactly which buttons to press to bring out that wicked smile.

“Holy shit Jason, stop live-blogging everything to your girlfriend! If she wants to play she’s welcome to. Jesus!” Jughead shouted from across the table, effectively silencing everyone else.

And that’s how Jughead effectively destroyed his own “invite only, this is a selective D&D campaign and not everyone can join” rule.


End file.
